The Return of the Energizer Bunny
by scully8746
Summary: NOTE: The title has nothing to do with the story. This is my version of seas. 5/2, and a good solution that would take care of all problems! B/A eventually.
1. Part 1

::Title:**Return of the Energizer Bunny**::  
::Author:Chrissy::  
::Email:scully8746@hotmail.com::  
::Summary:My version of Seas. 5/2, with the return of an old "friend"::  
::Spoilers:Seas.5/2::

  
  
  


Buffy was patrolling the streets of Sunnydale, not exactly un unknown occurrence on a Saturday night. The two vampire fledglings she'd staked already weren't really unknown occurrences either. 'But God knows they were boring as hell...,' she thought, twirling a stake in her palm. 'I need a real challenge...' 

She heard a noise to her right, and turned, half-hoping for something supernatural. When the sound turned out to be a cat - 'Someone else out for a midnight prowl...' - she sighed discontentedly and continued her trudging. 

Then, before her instincts could warn her, a figure lunged at her from behind. The blonde turned quickly, blood rising, heard pumping, adrenaline rushing, to face... another blonde. 

"Spike!" she hissed angrily. "Don't do that to me!" 

The platinum grinned the only way he knew how and slapped her on the back. "Just thought I'd give you a scare. Don't tell me you didn't know I was coming...?" 

"Well-I...," Buffy stuttered. "I-Of course I did! But you shouldn't do that. It isn't nice to sneak up on people when they're hunting." 

"Hunting, is it?" He scowled comically. "Come on, Slayer, can't you leave anything for the other blokes? Don't I get my share of the violence?" 

Buffy glared at him. "You're sick. You know that, right?" 

"At least I'm a demon," Spike shot back. "Hunting's in my blood." 

"I'm the Slayer," Buffy retorted angrily. "It's in my blood, too!" 

"Well, isn't that interesting!" Spike grinned and sauntered ahead. 

Buffy groaned, and, against her better judgment, jogged ahead to catch up with him. "What do you mean, 'interesting'?" she questioned. "Would you quit with the freakin' mind-games? Why can't you ever talk straight?" 

"You want straight?" Spike pulled the package protruding from his breast pocket and offered Buffy one - "Ew!" - before lighting one for himself. "Here it is. Your blood. My blood. Slayer. Demon. And isn't it _interesting_ that our blood needs the same things." He dropped the cigarette, grinding it nervously under the toe of his combat boots. He leaned closer to Buffy, smoke pouring from his nostrils, catching the light of the street lamp with every word. "Isn't it... _interesting_ that we have the same needs..." His voice dropped. "...The same...desires..." 

"You're really sick," Buffy repeated, darting backward, away from him. 

Spike smiled. "Am I." 

Buffy stared at him, now deadly serious. "Spike, I seem to recall already having this discussion with you. Which begs the question... why are you still following me?" Her expression hardened with her words, and Spike retreated, trying for all his worth not to show how flustered he felt. 

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it..." 

"Yeah. It is." Buffy just stared at him. Her eyes dared him to make a move, but despite his instinct, despite the undead heart that wanted to beat in his chest, he refused to move, staring her down. And to his delight, Buffy was the one to finally back off. 

"Look..." She swept the hair back off her forehead. "It's been a long night... I-I think I'm just going to go home. Slay all you want," she muttered. She turned and walked away, not waiting for his response. 

Spike grinned smugly, forcing his small victory to outshine his overwhelming defeat, and retrieved another cigarette from the box in his pocket. He set out for the cemetery, intent on having a good evening. 'And the three key elements? A fag, some fresh air, and a nice spot of violence!' He wondered if he'd get lucky. Perhaps there'd be a Fyral demon about.... 

*** 

Lindsey smiled as he placed the ornate golden box on the conference table. "You're sure this is what you want?" He opened the lid and backed a step away. 

"Positive," Darla purred, stepping out of the shadows. She glided toward the box, her smile growing wider as she opened the lid to reveal the tool inside. It was a metal rod, dark worn. Its look was neither expensive nor antique, and was decidedly out of place in the modern conference room. Darla didn't care, though. She lifted the rod carefully from the velvet padding, running her fingers down the length of it. "This will do just fine..." 

[END ONE]


	2. Part 2

(((Part 2)))

  
  
  


Angel grunted and rolled over. He didn't want to wake up yet. He didn't want to face the day. He wanted just one more hour of sleep... 

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Angel was abruptly pulled from his dreams by Cordelia's falsely cheerful voice. He could feel her doubt, her pain everyday, but to her credit, she tried to pretend that she'd forgiven him. 

"Um uhwok," she heard, muffled by the blue-clad pillow. 

"What was that? I couldn't hear you THROUGH THE PILLOW!" she replied, leaning closer to his still form to deliver the last three words. 

"Guh uhweh," he replied, pulling the pillow closer. 

"Angel, if you don't wake up right now, I might think you're dreaming about Darla again," Cordy said threateningly. "And that would really piss me off." 

Angel groaned and raised his head, blinking rapidly in the bright light streaming from the hallway. "What is it?" he rasped, wrapping a sheet around his waist. 

"It's two in the afternoon, that's what it is!" Cordelia shot back. "I know you're a vampire, Angel, but we are running a humanity-centric business, and their hours of operation are nine to five. Besides," she grinned, enjoying the salt she was about to rub in his open wound, "the Boss wants you up." 

Angel winced and ran a hand through his hair. "Now?" 

"Yup!" She grinned evilly, and then turned to go back downstairs. 

*** 

"What's wrong?" Willow persisted, drawing a chair up next to Buffy's at the dining room table. 

Buffy sighed and smiled wanly. "It's nothing, really, Wil. It's just... everything's confusing. It's-but I can handle it. It's okay, really." 

"No, it's not," the red-head insisted. "Come on, Buffy, you can't kid a kidder, and I know you. What is it?" 

"Just... stuff," Buffy replied vaguely. She shifted away from the witch. 

"What stuff? Anything in particular?" Willow refused to give up. This was a best friend's job, to pick at and question the other friend's stories. 

"Spike," Buffy finally admitted, albeit quietly. 

"Buffy, did he do something?" Willow questioned immediately, instantly alarmed. "I know he's been lurking around a lot, but-" 

"No, it's just the lurking," Buffy assured her. "All the lurking. It's bugging me." 

"Well, of course!" Willow agreed. "As it should. I mean, a guy's stalking you for fun, yeah, that would have me pretty bugged too." 

"It's not just that, it's..." Buffy stood up suddenly, nervously pacing around the dining room. "He honestly thinks that there's something between us. I mean, _really_. Like, he can't live without me or something. It's really creepy, Wil." She stopped pacing to look at her friend. "I mean, what if... wh-what if..." 

"What if he's right?" Willow finished softly, almost wincing at the thought of it. "Buffy, he's a vampire. He's evil. He doesn't have a soul. I... I really don't know what else to tell you." 

"You don't think I should ever..." Buffy trailed off, unable to even think ahead to the end of that sentence. 

"No! No, absolutely not," Willow said quickly. "Buffy... I mean, what happened? A few days ago, you hated him too. Now I'm kinda starting to wonder." 

"I hate him!" Buffy yelped immediately. "I hate him. I do. I just... God, and it kills me to even think this, but... I don't know how I feel about him. I really don't. It's scary, Wil." She sat back down at the table. "I don't know what to do anymore. I don't think that I _love_ him, but sometimes I wonder... sometimes I wonder, what if this is it? Riley's gone. He's not coming back, not for a _really_ long time, and what am I waiting for? I don't exactly have the long-life-growing-old-with-my-grandchildren-thing to look forward to... why do I do this to myself? This enforced single-dom." 

Willow hesitated. "Maybe because it's safer?" She grinned. "Sorry, am I psychoanalyzing again? Who would think a psychotic-evil-government-doctor-Frankenstein would have that much influence on me, huh?" The smile faded. "Seriously, though... I agree. I mean, I do think that you're awfully hard on yourself. I just... I just think that you could do better. Even if you're settling for something less than-passionate, I don't know... I just think that you can do better than a wannabe-evil-soulless-demon who would kill us all if he didn't have a piece of metal the size of a penny lodged in his brain." 

Buffy sighed, lowering her head onto the tabletop. "You know what the worst part is?" she asked, glancing sideways at Willow. "I agree with you, I really do..." 

*** 

"The last step in thy forging is my pain," Darla chanted, raising the rod up to the empty sky. "The price with which I purchase the return of thy unholy vessel." She gritted her teeth and plunged the arm that held the rod into the steaming cauldron. Shrieking in pain, she nevertheless forced her arm to stay under. 

Across the room, Lindsey merely looked on, smiling grimly. 

[END TWO]


	3. Part 3a

(((Part 3a)))

  
  
  


Angel sighed, trotting down the stairs ten minutes later. "Okay, guys," he said, toweling his hair dry as he walked. "What's up?" 

"Ah, Angel, good of you to join us," Wesley replied, smiling his greetings. 

"Not a problem, Wesley," Angel replied, his voice overwhelmingly civil. "After all, I don't mind waking up early... and you're the boss." 

"Yes, well..." Wesley turned back to the stacks of books covering his desk. "I've come across a prophecy that I think needs our attention. Are you familiar with _The Nostrembeau Chronicles_?" 

"Yeah, they were compiled in 1040 A.D. by ten mute French monks. They give a complete vampire history up to 1040 and predict the Apocalypse, among other things." Angel perched at the edge of the desk, keenly interested. _The Nostrembeau Chronicles_ were a favorite resource of his. They were generally accurate, and amazingly insightful. 

Wesley frowned. "Yes, that's a fairly accurate description. I must remind you, though, that their prediction of the Apocalypse is, as yet, unverified." 

"Sure, but almost everything else they've predicted has come to pass," Angel argued. "Why would they be wrong about that one?" 

"Well, for one thing, it's scheduled to occur in three years, which I'll admit, I'm not too keen on." Wesley removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "And for another, most of the predictions in those volumes that _have_ come to pass have been verifiable through other sources." He blinked, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "At any rate, that particular prophecy is not why I called you down." 

"What's up?" Angel asked again. He perused absent-mindedly through the articles littering Wesley's desk, noting with some apprehension the mug of cold coffee sitting next to a first-edition copy of _The Diary of Lucius Temple_. "Why is this out, anyway?" he questioned, removing the book from the coffee's dangerous presence and waving it before Wesley's face. "Lucius Temple was an authority on Acathla. Right?" 

"I expect you would know better than I," Wesley responded, not without humor. "But yes, he was. His discoveries also included a study on dimensional portals, similar to what Acathla used to suck the world into Hell." 

"And that's relevant because...?" Angel prompted, laying the book back down on the stack. He stood up and took a regular seat in front of the desk. 

"I assume you know of the Cardinal who commissioned _The Nostrembeau Chronicles_," Wesley began. 

"No, actually," Angel replied. "Why don't you fill me in." 

Wesley smiled, obviously relishing his position as teacher. "His name was Monsignor Pedro del Amico." 

"Italian," Angel noted. "Why did he involve the French?" 

"Del Amico _was_ Italian, but he commissioned the _Chronicles_ in secret, supposedly while he was on holiday in France," Wesley replied. "As I'm sure you're aware, the church was, at the time, working to quell the pagan beliefs in vampires and witchcraft that were prevalent throughout Europe."

"Why was del Amico involved, then? Didn't he risk excommunication?" Angel inquired curiously. 

"Yes, he did. That's why he tried to keep his involvement below radar, so to speak." Wesley smiled, a bit unpleasantly. "I'm rather surprised you've never heard of del Amico. I thought all vampires would know his name. Besides commissioning the _Chronicles_ in 1040, he made another important... _advancement_, I suppose." He paused, continuing at Angel's expectant look. "In 1053, the church found out about del Amico's _extracurricular_ activities, and he _was _excommunicated. He retreated to England, where he began to organize other men of the faith who nevertheless believed in demonic activity. Men who were devoted to stopping evil, to fighting demons and vampires, using magic as their ally..."

"The Watcher's Council," Angel realized uneasily. He shifted forward in his seat. "But wait a minute, I thought that the Council had been around forever. And I know there were Slayers before 1053. They're even listed in _The Nostrembeau Chronicles_!" 

"Yes, there were Slayers before the Council was assembled," Wesley agreed. "Some of them even had Watchers, but it was all informal. They had no titles, there was no organization. One girl was called, but no one would know who she was except for the ones closest to her. Word traveled faster through the demon underworld than it did through the people, I'm sure." 

"That's unbelievable," Angel said, his chin perched in his hand, which was steadied on the arm of the chair. "So del Amico formed the Watcher's Council. You're right, I'm surprised I didn't know." 

"Well, it isn't all that unexpected, I suppose," Wesley admitted. "After all, the Council keeps all news of their inner-workings a secret. It's all... smoke and mirrors, where they're concerned. And del Amico was still trying to keep his identity a secret when he had the _Chronicles_ compiled." 

They sat in silence for a moment, until Angel remembered why he had been so rudely awoken. "Didn't you say something about a prophecy?" 

Wesley opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by shouting from the lobby. It was Cordelia. 

[END 2a] 


End file.
